


The Road To Redemption (Is Called Amadeus Pass)

by EleanorC



Series: Fictober19 - Timtober2019 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon!Tim, Fictober 2019, First Kiss, Jason is a self-sacrificing idiot, M/M, Sylph!Jason, Timtober (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleanorC/pseuds/EleanorC
Summary: Fictober19, Timtober2019 Day 3 - "Now? Now you listen to me?" and "Flightless".“The council has decided on your mission,” Ducra tells him.Jason will do anything to fix his mistakes, anything. Now if his little guide could kindly shut up and look pretty, he’d be able to get on with it.





	The Road To Redemption (Is Called Amadeus Pass)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> Welcome to part 3 of my Timtober/Fictober collection. 
> 
> These fics are really getting away from me....they were supposed to be cute little short-stories, not politically charged drama... 
> 
> Which is why I've decided to get this one betad properly, so super big thank you to Chibinightowl for whipping my comma-happy self into shape ^^. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, feel free to let me know in the comments!

“The council has decided on your mission,” Ducra tells him. 

The old hag hovers just high enough to look down on Jason, reminding him of just how ground-bound he currently is. 

It’s been a year since they took his wings away. Before they did it, he wasn’t even aware that was possible. But one mistake (an admittedly big mistake with long-reaching consequences for his people), and they’d ripped them off with a few words and a flare of magic. 

It had hurt, but not in the way he’d expected, like the pain from cutting off a leg. His wings had simply been there one second, then gone the next, a burning sensation running along his back.

Bastards hadn’t even given him enough warning to land before they’d done it, and he’d dropped eight feet to the ground. 

The phantom sensation is what has taken the longest to get used to. Once the pain had faded, he’d realized that he could still  _ feel _ his wings, even if they’re not there. It’s tricked him into forgetting that he can’t fly more times in the last year than he’s willing to admit. 

And now, finally, he’s proven himself enough to get a chance to earn his wings back. 

Jason kneels because he knows that’s what Ducra is waiting for. 

“What does the council wish of me, master?” It irks him, that they use Ducra, of all people, as their spokesperson, but he knows that’s on purpose. To make him feel insignificant by placing him back under the control of the person who was in charge of his training in his youth. 

It doesn’t matter, he’s been through worse. 

It’s not Ducra’s fault, she’s just following orders. He’ll always be grateful to her as she was the only one willing to give him a chance in the first place. 

“You will act as a messenger from the Valley and the Temple to the Crest Hills, where you will present Queen Drake with our humblest apologies for our part in the current conflict, as well as a missive containing our offer to assist the Gotham Conglomeration of Nations in the coming years.”

_ What? _

Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying?

“Are we exposing ourselves?” he asks. 

That can’t be right. The Sylph haven’t actively interacted with the outside world for centuries, only ever leaving in deep layers of invisibility magic to observe. Only the people of the Valley, the ones they are sworn to protect, are even remotely aware of what their tribe functions like within the walls of the temple. They’ve been hidden away for so long, most races don’t even remember what they look like. Even the long-lived ones. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. The council has decided that the ghouls are becoming too big a threat. It is only a matter of time before they find a way over the mountains.” 

“So the council doesn’t think we can handle the threat on our own? The Valley has been a neutral haven during conflicts for centuries.”

“Correct, but Praetor Dent fears neither the Ghouls nor the Dragons will give us much choice in the matter. The council agrees.” 

Shit. Jason knew his fuck up had far reaching consequences, but hadn’t expected them to be this bad. He’d blame it on being out of the loop since he lost his rank, but the truth is he hasn’t been paying attention, too caught up in his own problems. 

No wonder the council was so severe in his punishment. He should be grateful to get a chance to atone at all. 

Atone, not redeem. Because Jason may be out of the loop, but he’s heard enough of Queen Drake to know he’ll be in for a world of pain. He’s directly responsible for her personal loss, and she’s not known for being very forgiving. 

This isn't the opportunity to earn back his wings he was promised. No, he’s a peace offering, a sacrifice, and he doesn't expect to leave Queen Drake's palace alive. 

He doesn’t like it, at all, but he understands. This is the price he has to pay for his fuck up, and it’s his choice whether or not he does that with dignity. 

Ducra doesn’t like it either. He can see it in her eyes. 

“Don’t shoulder too much of the blame, Jason,” she surprises him by saying, “the ghouls would have become a threat eventually either way.” 

Jason narrows his eyes in a glare that would have earned him some form of punishment during his apprenticeship. “You promised not to read my mind.” 

A hint of a smile appears on her face. “It’s kind of hard not to when you are projecting as loudly as you are.”

Shit, he’d dropped his shield while he was thinking. 

Magic is becoming more difficult as time passes. The earth-fever creeping ever closer the longer he’s ground-bound. Now that he knows he won’t ever get his wings back, he doesn’t suppose there’s any need to worry over it anymore. 

Instead, he asks, “When am I leaving?” 

“Tonight, after curfew,” Ducra replies, a slight tremor in her voice. “This is a stealth mission, no one can know. You must travel under cover of darkness, and enter no cities.”

It isn’t the first stealth mission he’s been sent on by far. He knows how they work. Still, he doesn't allow his mind to wander. He may have lost his rank, but he's still a professional. 

-

As Jason walks back to his quarters, he looks longingly up at the sky. 

He misses it. 

Misses the wind in his hair and the touch of clouds on his skin. In the Temple, at least he has some altitude. Once he reaches the borders of the Crest Hills, it will be much harder to resist the earth-fever. 

He’ll be glad to be away from the stares though. 

In a way, he’s used to them. He’ll always be the odd one out amongst his people. When he was young, his peers looked down on him because of his deserter father and addicted mother. Both were banned from the Temple, if for different reasons. His rare midnight blue hair with a single shock of white, the result of being born during a night-time thunderstorm, only made it easier to point him out in a crowd. 

The other Sylph’s never seemed to care that his mother sought relief from crystal dust because his father had ruined her wings beyond repair. That the earth-fever was driving her mad with pain every single day until her death. 

Ducra was the only one who wanted to chance taking the son of two outcasts as her apprentice. She convinced the council to take him on despite his temper and his near hostile attitude towards the people he blamed for his mother’s death. 

And then there’s his ley-veins. No elegant, flowing swirls for him. No. He’s got harsh, jagged patterns reminiscent of lightning strikes, a fierce white glow with the barest hint of blue in it. 

So, no. Jason’s never been like other Sylphs, and he’s always been able to feel the eyes of his kind on him. 

But he never cared. Not when his poor upbringing made him the perfect candidate for scouting and spy work. Not when those jagged ley-veins give him the biggest magical reserves amongst his peers. After all, it allowed him to rise through the ranks as far as he did, despite his background. 

The problem is that he’s changed since losing his wings, packing on muscle in a way no other Sylph ever has. He’s also grown a couple inches, not more than he would have otherwise, but he tends to tower over the others a bit (when they deign to come speak to him at his level). As his magic fades, his ley-veins have faded somewhat, which, combined with his new muscle mass, means he can now probably pass as a half-elf, or even a human, if he conceals them. 

The end result is that he’s a walking, talking, breathing cautionary tale parents tell their children. 

_ Don’t talk to strangers, you’ll end up like Jason.  _

_ Listen to your instructors, or you’ll end up like Jason.  _

_ Don’t associate yourself with those of lower rank, they never accomplish anything good, just look at Jason.  _

Children run when they see him walk in their direction. That bothers him more than anything else. He used to be good with the kids, was training to become a combat flying instructor.

So, yeah. He won’t regret leaving the home that doesn’t want him anymore, but he doesn’t look forward to fighting off the earth-fever that’s sure to come for him. 

-

It’s far from the first time Jason has pretended to be something other than Sylph, but doing so without complicated rituals to magically alter his appearance is new. He doesn’t have a choice as his magical reserves have drained too far for him to sustain an illusion of that magnitude. 

In a way, it’s fortunate that he doesn’t have wings to hide anymore. 

The paste Ducra had handed him at the end of his briefing itches a bit as he applies it over the ley-veins on his face, throat, and exposed arms. It matches his skin tone perfectly, and covers the faint glow they emit. A thick tar-like substance is applied to his hair, concealing the slightly blue sheen and, more importantly, the white streak. 

His soft dark-grey leather armor is a comfort to wear, as is the hooded cloak. 

The Temple curfew is strictly followed, so he meets no one on his way to the secret tunnel exit, where Ducra awaits him. She leads him through the tunnel system without a word, and gives him the package and letter he’s supposed to deliver. 

“A guide has been appointed to help you navigate in the dark while avoiding the roads,” she whispers in the dark.

“Sorry, a guide?” Jason can’t stop himself from asking. 

“Yes, Jason, a guide. And don’t even think of ditching him because he has the paperwork legalizing your entry into the Conglomeration,” she says. “It was decided that you will need one, since it will be the first time you’re traveling beyond our borders on foot. Praetor Dent assures us he’s capable.” 

It’s funny how it never occurred to him that he’d be  _ walking _ to the Crest Hills. If he’d been worried about earth-fever before, now he  _ knows _ it will be a problem. 

“This will be painful, won’t it?” he asks Ducra, knowing she’ll understand what he’s talking about. 

“Yes.” The thing he likes about the old hag is that she never tries to soften the blow. “Which is why I want you to take this.” 

She removes a pouch from her belt. 

He eyes it suspiciously. 

“What’s that?” he asks, no small amount of distrust in his voice. 

Ducra raises an eyebrow at him. “Not crystal dust. Something more effective and less addictive.”

Jason frowns, but takes the pouch anyway, opening the drawstring carefully, exposing dried leaves of a flower he’s only seen once before in his life. 

“Sky-Lily petals,” he whispers, before looking up at Ducra. “This must have cost you a fortune.” 

Sky-Lilies are notoriously difficult to grow, and the few Sylph farmers that do are ridiculously secretive about the how of it. They’re the only truly effective way for a ground-bound Sylph (or any other creature with a true connection to the sky) to keep the earth-fever at bay, as the tea made from the petals is infused with the essence of the sky. The council has control over most of the yearly harvest, and the rest is so expensive the common people have no chance of getting any. 

Jason has only been on a single mission where it was part of his emergency provisions. The petals had to be returned when he completed the mission without trouble. 

If he’s careful, this supply should be enough for weeks. He ties the drawstring and settles the pouch in a secure pocket sewn into his armor.

Ducra smiles sadly. “It was the least I could do for my favorite wayward student.” 

He knows he’s truly off his game because he’d normally have some sort of sarcastic response to that statement. Now, he doesn’t have the words to express how he feels. The knowing way Ducra smiles clues him in on the fact he’s dropped his shield again, and so the words become unnecessary. 

“Your guide will meet you at the bottom of the Misty Waterfall,” she says, a gentle reminder that it’s time to go. 

It occurs to him that he’ll never see her again, and suddenly going without expressing himself openly for a change becomes unthinkable. 

“Master Ducra,” he says, and for the first time in years there isn’t a single wisp of sarcasm infused in the title. 

His old master settles her eyes on him, clear surprise shining through. 

“Thank you for everything.”

Her expression falls a bit. 

“Don’t thank me, Jason,” she whispers. “Sometimes I fear I may just have made things harder for you in the long run.” 

The only way that can be true is if death is easier than living, because he knows without a doubt he would not have survived this long without the old hag he owes his life to. 

Whatever, easy was never Jason’s thing anyway. 

In a final show of character, he turns and walks off without saying goodbye. Just waves a lazy human salute Ducra’s way in a total breach of etiquette. He knows she doesn’t mind anymore. That the years have taught her to give up hope on him ever changing. 

Her soft laugh follows him through the tunnel exit as proof of that. 

-

The distance between the secret exit of the Temple, and the waterfall he’s supposed to meet his guide at isn’t that far. Maybe ten minutes of flying in calm weather. On foot, it takes Jason nearly two hours. 

The Misty Waterfall lives up to its name, the water vapors creating a fog in the area surrounding the river it ends in. Trees surround the water, one even hanging over it. They don’t quite block out the view of the sky. 

The thin slice of the new moon gives him barely enough light to see by, but even with his magic as low as it is, that’s never been a problem. 

And yet, he still doesn’t notice the figure sitting in the branches of a nearby tree until they speak up. 

“You’re late.” The voice is soft, but clear. A slight accent to the words. 

To his credit, Jason doesn’t flinch or jump, simply turns to the sound to find a small figure lounging on the lower branches of a big oak. 

His features are hidden by a hood, but Jason would recognize that armor style anywhere. A member of the Bats. A small tribe of highly trained humans dedicated to protecting Bristol and loyal to one man, and one man only. 

King Wayne. 

There’s all sorts of rumors surrounding them, ranging from frightful tales that they are actually a family of immortal monsters to stories that Bruce Wayne kidnaps orphans off the streets who are replaced as easily as candlesticks.

Either way, Jason’s not about to let himself be intimidated. 

“I wasn’t aware we were on a schedule,” he drawls. 

The figure turns and jumps off the branch with an elegance Jason wasn’t aware humans are capable of, and the way he moves as he walks forward screams of a control of his limbs that should not be underestimated. 

When he stops just a foot away from him, firmly in his personal space, it becomes clear that he isn’t as small as he first appeared. Still a good few inches shorter than Jason, but not below average for a human. He also notes that while he appears slender, he’s by no means lacking in muscle mass. 

Blue eyes, sharp enough to see their color even in the dark, claim his attention when the man tilts his head to look at him. 

And it’s a man. Granted, a delicately built one, with smooth features and pale, soft-looking skin many woman would be jealous of, but a man. 

“Everything is on a schedule,” the man replies. “I would have thought a Scout-Captain would understand that.”

It’s a low blow, calling him by his former rank. Jason has no doubt this man is aware of that. The veiled insult that comes with it doesn’t help anything. 

“It’s just Jason now,” he says through gritted teeth. He has a feeling this walking, talking animated construct of a man will try the full measure of his admittedly limited patience. 

For the first time, the other man’s expression changes, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown as he looks at the armor covering Jason’s right shoulder, devoid of the swirling pattern that used to indicate his position. 

“I see.” 

When he looks back up, his face is back to it’s infuriatingly passive neutral position. “In that case, you may call me Tim.” 

As in, if the situation had been different he would have called him something else?

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. 

Tim turns and walks back to the tree where he picks up a travel pack much like the one Jason is carrying on his back beneath his cloak. “We should get going,” he says. “It’s later than I planned, and I’d like to reach the Mirror Lake before sunrise.”

_ Oh hell no. _

“The Mirror Lake is the wrong way, we need to go North,” Jason states “I thought you were supposed to be a  _ guide _ .”

His new human companion doesn’t appreciate that. 

“Go North, and what? Climb the Arkham Mountains? In spring?” he replies, not looking up from binding his pack to his back. “No thanks. One wrong move and we’ll be buried under an avalanche or drowning in an ice lake.” 

Jason scoffs. “Not if we take Amadeus Pass, we won’t.” 

That causes Tim to look at him. 

“Are you mad?” he hisses. “That place is overrun with husks and all manner of vile creatures. No. We had best go South, out the mouth of the Valley, and cross into Blüdhaven. As soon as we’re in the Conglomeration, I can use my contacts for steeds, and we’ll be able to safely travel to Taisce Fíor from there.” 

Jason would note that the other man is surprisingly easy to rile up if he wasn’t so irritated himself. “Even with proper horses, that will still take twice as long, if not more,” he growls. “I’ll die if I spend that long in Blüdhaven.”

Literally, since the dense forests of Blüdhaven will only drain what remains of his connection to the sky that much faster. The human doesn’t need to know that though. 

Tim looks unimpressed, and crosses his arms. “Could you be any more dramatic? What’s so bad about Blüdhaven?”

“The people come to mind, for one.” 

That earns him a scowl. “Wood Nymphs? I honestly don’t know how anyone could dislike a Wood Nymph.”

“Excuse me, have you ever tried to spend more than an hour with one?” Jason counters. “They’re vain, frivolous, undisciplined, and lazy, yet somehow they still manage to hop around like they’ve all collectively eaten the wrong mushroom.”

Tim stares at him for a full ten seconds before he huffs and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Then he mumbles something so softly under his breath even Jason has to strain to hear it. “Of course I’d get saddled with a racist, what was I expecting?”

It makes him wonder if the human knows how good his hearing is. 

“You’d really choose husks and an assortment of other creatures who may or may not try to eat us over the safer route because you dislike Wood Nymphs?” 

Jason pulls up the shit eating grin he knows his commanding officers always both hated and feared. “Any day.”

He can see the moment Tim decides he doesn’t want to waste any more energy on the argument. It’s the same moment his face falls back into that neutral, bland look. 

Personally, Jason thinks the man is at least twice as attractive when he’s annoyed, compared to passive, but it’s a line of thinking he doesn’t spend too much time on. 

“Fine.” It’s almost unnerving how fast the switch between the angry hissing from before and this calm tone is. “But don’t expect me to warm you back up when you’re freezing your ass off up there.” 

Does this guy know  _ nothing? _

Jason scoffs. “Sylphs don’t get cold.”

-

“Are you going to help pack up camp or do you want to stargaze a little longer?” 

Jason closes his eyes and reminds himself he can’t afford to push his guide off the side of a mountain.

Five minutes, that’s all he asks for. Five minutes to center himself and connect with the sky as best he can in his current state. He hasn’t needed the Sky-Lily tea yet, mostly because he’s been either in the Valley or the mountains, but if Tim doesn’t allow him this little ritual, he’s going to need to soon. 

They’ve been travelling for five days, having entered the mountains the day before yesterday, and Jason is already so done with his guide. They disagree on just about everything, from routes to take to schedules for the use of their rations. 

The fact that Jason realized during the third day that only half of the arguments he starts are backed up by actual disagreement, while the rest are simply because he likes seeing Tim riled up doesn’t help at all. Sometimes he likes to imagine there’s smoke coming from his nose and mouth when Jason pushes him particularly far, even if he knows that’s ridiculous. He can’t help it, though. The human is a stuck up, emotionless puppet that speaks and acts with all the grace of the higher court unless something breaks through his shell and irks him. 

Which is something Jason is rapidly becoming very adept at. 

The funny thing is that Tim has noticed it too, and it annoys him, making it easier for Jason to get him irritated. Sad part is, it goes both ways, and Jason has the feeling Tim _ isn’t _ quite doing it on purpose. 

“Well?” Sounds impatiently from from behind him, and Jason admits to himself it’s just not gonna happen. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all prissy, Princess,” he says. “Just admiring the view.” 

There’s not as much energy in it as usual, and maybe Tim notices that he simply doesn’t  _ have  _ the energy to waste on an argument because he doesn’t take the bait. 

Instead, Tim looks over in the direction they’re going today. 

“I still don’t think we should be travelling the pass at night. We’re far enough away from civilisation that no one who could disrupt our mission will bother us. Besides, we’re much more vulnerable to an ambush in the dark.”

Jason agrees. Problem is, he doesn’t have the time to wait an entire day to switch between day and night travel and he simply doesn’t have the energy to keep walking after the sun comes up. 

Some part of him tells him it’s stupid to keep his condition from the human, but showing weakness in front of this admittedly excellent specimen of the usually weaker human race irks him. 

He’d rather have Tim think him annoying than weak. 

“Yeah well. Orders are orders,” he replies. 

Tim rather nicely declines to mention that Jason doesn’t come across as the type that follows orders very well. 

-

“I thought you said Sylphs don’t get cold?” Tim asks, and while the mockery that Jason expects is certainly there, it can’t quite hide the trace of worry running through the question as well. Not when his lips are turning blue from the cold he’d proclaimed to be all but immune to.

_ That’s what I thought _ , he thinks, and he didn’t believe he’d ever feel as betrayed by his body as the moment he fell helpless from the air when his wings were ripped away, but this is getting awfully close to it. He’d first noticed an uncomfortable awareness of the cold when they stopped to rest. By the time the sun went down, he was suppressing shivers as aches crawled up his limbs

It’s the eighth day, and they’ve been struggling through the remnants of winter snow since halfway through the previous night. 

He tries to send a scathing look Tim’s way, but he just drags Jason to a large boulder by his cloak. He shoves the layer of snow on top of it off with a broad sweep of his arm and removes his own cloak, draping it over the cold stone before commanding Jason to sit. 

Protesting only earns him a snippy, “For once in your life do as you’re told, you imbecile.” 

It’s not the best insult Tim has come up with over the last week, but it gets the point across. Not even half the night has passed, but it’s a relief to sit down. 

An extreme heat burns his exposed arm without warning. Jason flinches, surprised by the sudden warmth.. 

Turns out it’s just Tim’s hand, which is no longer covered by his glove. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I need to look at something.” 

Jason nods before thinking about it. Even when he expects the overly warm touch the second time, it still feels just shy of painful to have Tim touch him. 

Tim, who’s rubbing water onto the soft skin of the inside of his elbow, seemingly looking for something. 

As Jason looks at his travel partner, it suddenly occurs to him he’s not seeing as well as he should, everything a slightly darker shade than he’s used to. He can’t make out Tim’s face nearly as well as he did the first night they met, even though the moon is much fuller now, and he’s not wearing his hood. 

It’s the first time he’s seen the human without it, and his silky black hair is tied back with a variety of leather strings and braids, as is customary for a Bat.

Jason kind of wants to run his hands through it. 

A shiver runs through him before he has any hope of stopping it, and he wonders at how the Sylph is having trouble with the cold when the human is sitting in the snow without batting an eye. 

The soft gasp and the increase of too-hot pressure on his arm drags Jason’s attention back to Tim’s touch. 

“Jason,” Tim says, his voice shaking with some emotion he can’t place. “Why didn’t you tell me you have magic deficiency? No wonder you’re always looking at the sky.” 

Magic deficiency? Jason doesn’t have magic deficiency. What’s he even talking about? 

But then it registers what Tim just did, cleaning away the paint covering Jason’s ley-veins. Those same ley-veins he had forgotten were covered by non-magical means, so used to covering them with illusions for missions he doesn’t even notice when they’re not there. 

The ley-veins that have turned a dull grey color.

“Fuck,” Jason breathes, his eyes stuck to the pattern. 

The earth-fever had snuck up on him and he didn’t even feel it. The pain in his extremities makes so much more sense now.

“Jason, look at me!”

It’s a slow, dragging process, but he manages to make himself look at Tim. 

“Please tell me you have what you need to treat this, because I don’t think we’re compatible for an energy transfer.”

The fact that humans don’t usually have enough magical energy for any transfer in the first place doesn’t register. Luckily, the more important part of the statement does. 

Jason slowly lifts his hands to the pocket that holds the pouch with Sky-Lily petals. 

When he fumbles to open it, Tim’s hands are there to take over. Opening the pouch, he gasps when he sees the contents, eyes shooting back to Jason. 

“Is this what I think it is?” 

Normally, Jason would counter with  _ depends on what you think it is,  _ but he simply doesn’t have the energy to form the words. He manages a shrug. 

“This isn’t just magic depletion is it? You’ve got earth-fever.” 

Huh, most humans don’t know about that. Only species that have an inherent connection to the sky can get it. 

Another shrug, more difficult this time, and he loses balance, falling over to lean against Tim. His heat burns where their skin touches, but Jason thinks it’s actually kinda nice. 

“Why the fuck haven’t you been flying if you were this close to getting it?” 

Oh, a cuss. A real cuss. Jason hadn’t heard Tim use one of those yet. He must look really bad, then. 

“Not allowed,” Jason manages to groan, because he doesn’t think he can communicate that with shrugs. 

“Why the hell not?” Tim’s voice has gone a little shrill, which he would find funny if he wasn’t hurting so bad. 

“Punishment,” he whispers. “Didn’t follow orders.” 

He feels Tim go stiff beside him, but when he speaks again, it’s in a painfully calm voice. “I need you to sit on your own for a bit so I can make the tea.” 

With an unexpected burst of energy, Jason grabs the wrist of the hand Tim holds the precious pouch with.

“No time,” Jason whispers, before taking a single petal and pushing it between his shaking lips. 

It’s a stupid thing to do. The petals aren’t made into tea without reason. Eating them directly without diluting the magical reserves stored in them can overload the system. He just hopes that his severely depleted state combined with his above average magical potential are enough to keep him safe. 

He’s just aware enough of what he’s doing to shove Tim away before he bites down on the delicate petal. 

It hurts. In a different way from the earth-fever, or the touch of Tim’s skin, but it does hurt. A bit like the way it hurts when blood flow is restored to a limb after it’s been in a bad position for too long. Like pins and needles, but a supercharged version. Or like when a lightning spell backfires. Not that he’s used his lightning magic since he lost his wings.

He forces himself to keep chewing as the cold and the pain of the earth-fever fades. A magical energy fills him that he hasn’t felt in nearly a year, something he’s sorely missed. The feeling of magic flowing freely through his veins, as if the sky is embracing him with all her might. He could stay in this moment forever. 

“Jason, enough! You’ll kill yourself!” The stress in Tim’s voice is just enough to pull him out of the euphoric feeling, and allows him to spit the remains of the petal out. 

The onslaught of magic abruptly stops, yet he still buzzes with energy. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then opens his eyes. 

The night is bright in a way he’d forgotten was possible, the stars greeting him in numbers he’s honestly a little surprised by. A source of light from his right distracts him, and he’s awed at just how bright his ley-veins shine now, even if he can only see them in the little spot where Tim removed the paint. 

A slight shuffle pulls his gaze to Tim, and wow, he hadn’t really seen him before now. The word blue doesn’t do his eyes justice. There’s a large shimmering scar running along his throat, one that Jason recognises as the result of lightning magic. It sits wrong with him because there are very few people with lightning inclination in the world. He also has a faint scar just above his right eyebrow which, he now notes, has several holes for piercings, just like his ears. 

All of that registers distantly, but pales in comparison to the  _ aura _ which surrounds the man. 

“Are you with me, Jason?” Tim asks, and Jason has to push himself to focus through the overwhelming amount of stimuli. Had he really become that numb to the world in just a year? 

“You’re a mage?” he asks instead. 

Tim lets out a snort, which turns into a smile, which turns into a giggling laugh that has Jason’s skin heating up. He’d thought the human was nice to look at when he was angry, but that’s nothing compared to this, and Jason knows instantly he’s gonna have to work on getting Tim to smile or laugh at him again. 

Oh he’s fucked, isn’t he?

Tim’s still laughing. 

“You’re only noticing that now?” he asks between giggles. “Yeah, I’m a mage. Fire inclined.”

“Jeeze, no wonder you’re so warm.” 

Tim smirks. “Judging from the display just now, I’m gonna say you have an additional inclination towards ice on top of the Sylphs’ natural tendency to air.” 

_ What’s he talking about? _ Jason thinks, looking around only to spot the ice crystals radiating in a full circle around him. 

_ Oh, that. It’s a good thing I pushed him away. _

“It’s not quite like that, actually,” Jason replies, gesturing to the ice. “Yes, we have air inclination. But the thing that gives us our power is our connection to the sky. It’s involves more than pure air manipulation, even if that’s what comes easiest to most of us. We simply take our magic from the sky, because the sky holds all the elements a Sylph could need.” 

Tim looks doubtful of the statement. 

“Look, air is the obvious one,” Jason explains. “But where do you think the rain comes from, or the snow? The only place thunder really lives is in the sky. What do you think the moon is made from, if not earth? What hotter fire is there than the one that burns in the sun? What greater tree is there than Ygdrassil, whose branches it all hangs between. Sure, most Sylphs only have an air inclination, but all other elements are possible as well. To us, they all come from the same sky.”

It seems he’s triggered Tim’s interest. “And how are these additional abilities determined? Is it passed on through bloodlines?” 

In moments like these Jason is reminded of just how long the Sylph have separated themselves from the world. 

“No,” he replies. “It’s circumstantial. It all depends on the weather at the moment of our birth.” He sees the wheels in Tim’s head turning, and sighs before standing up, noting he feels lighter than he has in ages. “Look, I can explain, but we should probably start walking again while I’m this high in energy.” He picks up Tim’s cloak and returns it to him. “I’m not actually sure how long this boost will last, and I probably shouldn’t do that a second time.”

Tim looks at him for a little while longer with an odd look on his face before he accepts the cloak and drapes it over his shoulders. “Alright.”

Jason extends his hand to help Tim up and, to his surprise, the human accepts it. Tim’s skin is still ridiculously hot to the touch, but no longer in an overwhelming or uncomfortable way. 

They’ve been walking for a few minutes before Tim prompts. “So?”

For a second, Jason’s stumped. “So what?” 

“You were going to explain the intricacies of Sylph elemental inclination to me.” 

He should have known Tim would be the type to not let something go once it’s piqued his interest. 

“Right.” Jason stalls, trying to think of a good way to explain. “So like I said, all elements come from the sky. But there are fluctuations in which elements are represented strongest at any given time, except for air, because there is always air. If certain elements are represented strongly during a Sylph’s birth, there is a chance they will be inclined to those elements too. So for example, I was born during a stormy winter night. Which gives me a whopping three additional elements. Water, ice and thunder. Thunder is especially rare, the only thing rarer for Sylphs is wood, since Yggdrasil is only visible once every three decades, and even then, the weather needs to be clear to see it properly.”

“I never knew that, it’s fascinating.” Tim says when Jason stops to take a breath. 

“Yeah, well. We’ve been so secretive for so long, it’s no wonder some of the specifics got lost.” 

“So when you’re looking at the sky? What’s that?” 

Of course he’d noticed it more than just that one time. 

“That’s me trying to confirm my connection to the sky, which would go a lot easier if I could fly.” 

Tim’s mood seems to sour at that. “Which you’re not allowed to do.”

“Yep.”

“Because you disobeyed orders?”

“Yep.” Which reminds him. “Thanks, by the way,” he says, “You really saved my ass there, I didn’t realise it had gotten that bad.”

He says it because it’s true, he does feel grateful, but he also hopes it will get Tim to smile for him again. 

It works, he does get a smile, but it’s such a sad one he’s not sure he likes seeing it. 

-

They get along a little better afterwards, mostly because Jason stops disagreeing with Tim for the heck of it. They still argue over more than half the decisions they need to make, but it’s more good natured squabbling than actual argument. Of course, there are still fights ending with one or both of them losing their temper. Now that Jason is magically recharged, he knows that Tim  _ does _ actually steam when he gets him properly riled up, which he thinks is the funniest thing he’s seen in a long time. 

Over the next few nights, they make considerable progress, and Jason feels so good, they don’t bother with the tea at all, although Tim insists on checking his magical levels at sunset and sunrise. 

He always gets an unhappy sense about him when he does that, but Jason can’t quite pin what he’s cross about. 

One evening, after they've spent the day taking shelter in a cave, Tim crouches beside him while he sits on a log, and he finds that he can’t take it anymore. 

“Okay, out with it,” he says.

Tim glances up at him for a second, before going back to tracing lightly over what little part is visible of Jason’s ley-veins. “What do you mean?” 

Jason huffs. “Something is obviously bothering you everytime you touch me, so just tell me what I’m doing wrong and I’ll try not to bother you with it.”

The other man sighs and releases his arm so he can sit back a little. “It’s not something you did, Jason.”

“But it’s something.”

Tim looks away for a long while after that, staring in the direction they came from. “I guess I just never expected the Sylph Tribe to employ capital punishment. Especially not in such a cruel fashion,” he finally replies. 

Ah. Of course he’d picked up on that. 

“They usually don’t,” Jason says easily. “My situation is somewhat unique. It hasn’t happened in centuries.” 

It doesn’t appease Tim at all. “So, what? They made an exception for you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah,”

Tim’s face morphs into one of anger. “Why are you so calm about this? They are slowly but surely killing you!” He doesn’t shout, but it’s a close thing. “Insubordination can’t be enough cause for a punishment this severe.”

Jason had hoped he wouldn’t need to tell Tim his story. Such a shame since they were just starting to get along too. “It is when you single handedly escalate a decades old conflict into a war with your carelessness and cause a country to lose the heir to its throne.”

Tim whips his head back in Jason’s direction. “ _ What?” _

He shrugs. “I thought I was helping someone. Instead they used me to do something horrible. By the time I noticed something was off, it was too late to fully stop it.”

A shadow falls over him, and for the first time, Tim is the one towering over him. “That was  _ you?”  _

This is why Jason hadn’t wanted to tell him, he sounds completely heartbroken. Anger would be better than this. He wants to look away, but his gaze is stuck. “Yes, and unless I pay the price for it, my people will.”

“And how does that work? How does you dying help anyone?” 

“Because my actions have made neutrality impossible. My people, not just the Sylph but all the people of the Valley, are literally stuck between two warring giants because of a mistake I made.” 

“And dying will fix that how?” Tim’s voice is steadily rising. 

“Because if I can make it all the way to Taisce Fíor without succumbing to the earth-fever, I can give myself over to Queen Drake’s judgement, which will hopefully allow the Valley to open negotiations to join the Conglomeration. And If I’m  _ really _ lucky, she’ll kill me in a way that’s less painful and more dignified than what the earth-fever will eventually do to me.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tim is approaching hysterical, and Jason doesn’t understand why. 

“Well, yeah,” he says. “I’ve pretty much been waiting to die ever since someone else forced my body to shoot Prince Drake out of the sky. If I can fix part of the consequences of that moment by dying in a particular way, have at it.” 

The tears streaming over Tim’s cheeks leave Jason absolutely powerless to stop what happens next. 

“I can’t believe you.” Tim says while slowly shaking his head and backing off. 

Then, he abruptly turns and runs out of the cave. 

It takes Jason the better part of two hours to catch up to Tim while carrying both their packs. Not that it matters, the human doesn’t speak to him for the next two days. 

-

In the end, Jason should have known it was suspicious that they didn’t run into anything while traveling through the mountains. They are two days from the other side of Amadeus Pass when everything goes to hell. He wouldn’t call their discussion an argument per se, but given the choice between a narrow ravine and a rickety old bridge, he’s choosing the ravine.

“Look, I  _ know _ I’ll have an easier time connecting to the sky up there, but it’s too exposed, and I’m not keen on falling to my death from a faulty bridge either. For a Sylph, that would just be embarrassing,” he says, exasperated. 

“Really, that’s where you draw the line? Shifting boulders? Fine. Go through tunnels in melting glaciers? Great! Take the mountain pass with All The Dangers? Absolutely! Perfectly reasonable bridge route that’s both more convenient for a medical condition and faster? Oh no, can’t do that!”

Tim keeps ranting but Jason’s no longer paying attention. 

“Tim,” he says. 

The man doesn’t appear to hear him. 

“Tim,” he tries again. 

Or maybe he’s just ignoring him. He likes doing that. 

“Tim!” That grabs his attention.

_ “What?”  _

Jason points into the murk below, where a horde of husks is making their way upward. 

“Shit.” In the moment Tim whispers the word, one of the husks looks up to see the two figures staring down. It emits a shriek that prompts the rest into picking up the pace, no longer trying for the element of surprise. 

“Run, run, run!” Jason shouts, punctuating his statement with a shove against Tim’s shoulder to make him move. They take off in the direction of where the mountain path splits into two. 

“We need to make a decision real fast,” Tim shouts as they jump rubble and dodge boulders as fast as they can. 

“Oh, hell. You pick, you’re the guide.”

“Really? Now?” Tim shouts exasperated. “Now you listen to me?” 

“Yep, so make a decision that won’t get us killed, Sir Guide.”

“Ugh. You’re infuriating,” Tim growls. “Up, we’re going up.” 

The next long minutes are filled with nothing but a single minded focus to get the hell away from the horde. 

Once, Tim turns to throw a giant fireball at a point where the path is particularly narrow and edged by a steep cliff. Jason feeds the explosion with as much air as he can give it, causing a collapse. 

He’d be impressed with their teamwork if he wasn’t already running for his life. 

“The bridge is just around that bend,” Tim gasps between breaths. “I say we cross it, then do the fireball trick again.” 

“Seconded,” Jason replies as they speed up the trail, only to almost smack into Tim where he’s stopped in his tracks. 

The bridge is already burning at the bottom of the ravine. Husks scream and shout up at them. Either way apparently would have been the wrong choice.

“Fuck,” Jason breathes, looking around for a way out. Any way out. 

Tim echoes the sentiment and throws another fireball behind them, blocking the path for now.

“Screw this, let’s fly,” he says.

Jason frowns. “Did you forget the part where I  _ can’t _ ?” 

“Just because someone told you you’re not allowed, doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

“No, but I’m telling you now, I can’t. I honestly thought you knew that!” Jason yells, his voice rising in fear and irritation. 

“How’s that even possible? How could I have possibly known that?” 

He can’t believe he’s having this conversation while he’s about to either fall to his death or get ripped apart by husks. “Anyone who’s ever seen another Sylph kno—” Jason stops himself and turns to Tim.

“You’ve never seen a Sylph before me.” 

“No,” Tim says, returning Jason’s gaze. “But you’re closely enough related to Nymphs that basic anatomy should be the same.” 

He honestly can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Have you heard nothing of the things I’ve told you about how Sylphs are born? How our magic works? No, Tim. Sylphs and Nymphs are not close enough related to have the same basic anatomy. The main difference being that we have wings, which not only allow us to fly, but they also function as our greatest conduit for absorbing the essence of the sky. Tell me, Timmy,” Jason rants, and he can see Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “ _ Do I look like I have wings to you?” _

“Flaming pits, that was your punishment,” Tim whispers. “They cut off your wings.” 

Jason nods. “My wings were magically removed with the promise to return them if I redeemed myself. Only now, I’m being sent to the dragon queen as an apology offering. And the worst part? I’m still completely fine with that.” 

A single husk starts to climb over the pile of rubble from Tim’s last fireball. In a lightning fast move, Jason summons a thin icicle and shoots through the husk’s eye socket, causing it to fall back to the other side of the pile. 

“But I  _ refuse _ to die before I get there,” he continues.

At those words Tim gathers himself. 

“Good,” he says, as he pulls his cloak and his pack off, revealing once again the scar on his throat that gives Jason shivers every time he sees it. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.” 

Jason’s eyes widen as Tim grabs him by his hood to yank him down to his level. 

The kiss is tight lipped and so fast he doesn’t even have time to fully register it before Tim pushes his pack and his cloak into his hands. “Hold on to these for me,” he says, then shoves him into the ravine with a strength that belies what the human body is capable of.

He’s got just enough time to think,  _ that son of a bitch _ , before a frighteningly familiar sight appears above him. 

With his newly restored sight, it’s easy to recognize the lithe form speeding towards him. The deep black scales, the eyes a color that the word blue doesn’t do justice, and, the worst part, the tell-tale jagged, branching scar from the impact of a magical lightning bolt. 

He should have known. No human mage can be that powerful. Of course the man with the lightning scar named  _ Tim _ of all things is Prince Timothy Drake. Which means he didn’t kill the prince like he thought he had. 

What on earth is going on?

Jason expects being snagged mid fall by a dragon to hurt, but Tim is gentle about it, grasping him in one of his front legs and turning to speed away from the mountains. 

Tim’s fast, and Jason’s impressed. Faster than most of his peers, perhaps faster than him. 

Being carried like this isn’t particularly comfortable, but it’s the closest he’s been to the sky in a long time. Jason closes his eyes, and embraces the wind in his hair, the clouds on his skin, and the sky all around him.

-

By the time Tim lands, the sun is coming up. He gently allows Jason to slip from his grasp before he takes a few steps back to transform into his human form. 

Neither of them says anything as Jason returns the cloak and pack, and Tim starts rummaging through it for another set of clothes. 

“I will need to inform mother that I will not be able to perform any state visits to Bristol in the near future,” he mutters to himself. “Bruce is not going to be happy I lost my armor. Last time Dick lost his, he made him entertain the court ladies for two days.” 

“Please tell me you’re not talking about King Wayne and the Gray Son?” Jason asks before he can think better of it. “No, wait. How are you not dead? Because I’m pretty sure I killed you.” Please, someone stop him. Because Jason can’t make the questions stop spilling from his lips.. “And why would you kiss me? Cause even if I didn’t kill you, I came pretty darn close, and like, I know I said I wasn’t in control of my body, but that doesn’t make it okay, an— hmpf”

And then someone thankfully  _ does _ stop him from talking, but he wonders if Tim really  _ had _ to use his lips in order to achieve that effect. 

All thought of protest leave him when he sees the smile on Tim’s face as he draws back. “I’ll explain later. We have a message to deliver first.”

Jason doesn’t know when Tim placed his hand on his cheek, but the now familiar heat has a calming effect, so he nods.

Wait a minute, message to deliver?

The sun choses that moment to crest over the hills behind Tim, causing a shimmering reflection to his left. Jaw dropping, he takes in the glittering city towering over them. Tim flew them all the way to Taisce Fíor in a single night. 

“Welcome to my city, Scout-Captain Todd.” Tim whispers in his ear. “The royal family of the Crest Hills thanks you for bringing their heir home. I dare say that you’ve earned your wings back, wouldn’t you?” 

Jason has no idea how to even begin responding to that. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like he has to. 

“I would be inclined to agree.”

Behind him, stands an astral projection of Ducra, pride shining clear in her eyes. 


End file.
